


Wild Ride

by excalibvrn



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Arthur Knows About Merlin's Magic, Canon Era, Fluff, M/M, One Shot, This is my first work, most of it is from arthur's pov
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-03
Updated: 2019-01-03
Packaged: 2019-10-02 03:39:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,307
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17256920
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/excalibvrn/pseuds/excalibvrn
Summary: (Uther confines Arthur to his chambers for the entire day. Merlin's magic is the only thing that can get them out of there.)"Please tell me this hasn't got anything to do with yourfriends?"Merlin immediately shakes his head. That generally means yes.





	Wild Ride

**Author's Note:**

> i've written things before but never really completed them. this is the first time i try to post something... i don't have a beta reader and english isn't my first language, so there may be some mistakes!

Merlin figures that Uther isn't just going to wake up one morning and get creative. It feels sometimes as if he only knows one sentence for each situation. Maybe he's never really noticed how his words are always the same, sound exactly the same.

"You will not leave your chambers!" he declares, stern, locking eyes with his son's. Something much too similar to this happened not even a couple of days ago and they're at it again today, because Arthur cannot bear the thought of obeying his father's absurd orders. On rare occasions, Uther is right. Most of the time, he's wrong, in a way that secretly riles Merlin up. Secretly, because he values his own life. In any case, the manservant has been tuning out the two voices for a long while, and can't bring himself to care about what they're discussing. He's sure Arthur will soon drag him out of the throne room and rant about his father's behavior for hours, until his throat is sore.

" _Merlin_." Arthur abruptly draws him out of his train of thought, motioning with his head in the direction of the doors. Merlin's predictions are never wrong. He bows to the king with the usual bits of hidden disrespect, and speeds up his pace to catch up with the prince.

"Can you believe—" Arthur tries to say when they're outside, exasperation ringing through his tone, and Merlin is already eager to shut him up. "Yes, that's it, he's unbelievable," Merlin immediately mocks, pretending to be sore about the whole situation, at least half as much as Arthur is. Although the sarcasm is a tad too evident. Arthur glares at him through his fluttering blond lashes, almost bumping into a servant. Merlin thinks he should at least care where he's going, "Maybe start by looking forward?"

"Right, I'd rather not look at your ridiculous face and ears." He snorts, not very princely, and turns his head. But a second later he's looking again, constantly looking for some sort of reassurance of his presence. Merlin naturally grins at him, and Arthur twists his lips in that awkward way of his, of when he's attempting to cover his smiles. It's not much of a fair reaction, because Merlin constantly tries to elicit smiles from him, and he should simply comply and spread these lips, instead of looking like a constipated old lady.

"Couldn't you just," Arthur trails off, sticking his lips together and leaving them in silence. Merlin indulges him with an unintelligible questioning sound. Arthur looks around with his unmistakable look of great suspicion, the one he uses when he's worried someone else might hear their magic-involving conversations. When he's satisfied to notice there's no one else, he speaks, yet still in a whisper. "Couldn't you just turn my father into a toad for a day and then we would be free to go on a meaningless and fruitless trip and he won't be able to object and—" Arthur huffs, his lips shaping up into a childish pout.

"You should think of something that doesn't involve a culprit. Because eventually, your father will ask that _we_ find that culprit." Merlin responded, pushing the door open and strutting into Arthur's chambers as though they were his own. The nerve, Arthur thinks, shutting the door behind himself. He barely makes it to the chair, slouching on it, and already he hears the guards. They absolutely _have_ to stand outside his door, set to have him locked up in a measly room for hours on end. Merlin seems to latch on to his thoughts, like always. "The poor kidnapped princess, locked up in a tower…" he soon teases. Eerily enough, it sounds like something Gwaine would say; perhaps Merlin is learning from that drunkard's terrible sense of humor.

Arthur glares in the general direction of the door, well aware that attempting to convey his annoyance without the guards actually seeing him glare is sort of useless.

His thoughts, too are pretty much useless; he's distracted, distinctly recalls reading a book when he was young, much too young to actually appreciate reading but young enough that they'd force him to read and learn. Arthur had never found reading to be particularly entertaining, but there was that one book he had found himself enraptured by. It was a tale concerning a princess of some sort, locked up in the tall, tall tower and meant to spend the rest of her days in it. Upon reading the first lines he'd wanted to shut the book. But then the princess met a young man, he showed up at her window; Arthur let it slide, the fact that it was a tower taller than any other and _how did he even climb it_? Turns out the man had magic in his body and he could twist the world with his fingers alone. The two left through the window to travel on a dragon's back.  
Sprawled in bed, fire crackling tenderly close by, a young Arthur was fascinated with the many sorts of magic the man in the book was able to perform. He also wished for a friend who could travel freely through the skies and make shapes out of the clouds.

That was until Uther snatched away any of his possessions that had a connection to magic. "Something could still be inside your chambers. It is the sole spot that hasn't been searched." Uther had proclaimed bitterly, and Arthur was quick enough to hide the book somewhere nobody could find it. Not even himself. After a while, in fact, he forgot where he'd hidden it, tried to search for it and never found it. He'd concluded someone else had found it before him and thrown it away, or stolen it, or burned it— He wanted the book back, but there wasn't much he could do, and soon enough he barely had enough time on his hands to think about it.

"Couldn't you at least try to be less of a prat?" he hears, and his thoughts of the past instantly shatter, like he must have been stuck thinking back to the book for an excruciatingly long while. Well, Arthur doesn't know whether Merlin said anything that truly matters, but he's pleased with himself for getting him all worked up. It's one thing he likes to do on a daily basis.  
"Hmm? I didn't catch that."

Merlin gapes at him.  
"I have been talking to you for ages! And you haven't caught a word I said." he paces around like the angry lady he is and comfortably sits his arse down on a bed that totally isn't his. "Thanks for your undivided attention!"

"I'm sure it was nothing but your daily dose of unimportant ranting, Merlin. But I'll make the effort to listen." And then the prince offers a vague hand gesture that probably means _repeat all of it_. Merlin can only sigh.

"Let's just say there's a way we could leave without anyone noticing." he explains loudly, not minding the guards outside one bit and Arthur sits up. They do have ears, and they _are_ standing right outside the door. "What's wrong with your head? They'll hear you!" the prat hurriedly whispers, grabbing his arm to pull him forward and almost managing to making him trip on himself. Merlin can't help another heavy sigh, because Arthur's got to be losing his mind about this whole "keeping the magic hidden" thing. Merlin managed just as well on his own before, he isn't so careless as the prince likes to put it — maybe a little bit. Arthur has found out, but no one else has, and nobody else will. There's no need to act like that.

"I do have spells with which I can go unheard, you know."

Arthur relaxes slowly in his seat, his flushing almost unnoticeable, then sits up once more when Merlin abruptly throws the window open. "Merlin!" he calls out as a gust of unfriendly wind runs him through. "Did you really have to do that?!"

Merlin turns to him, the unapologetic brat, and doesn't seem to mind the cold. Maybe he's using magic again. He uses magic for an absurd amount of tasks, including the ones Arthur assigns him, but mostly for useless little things that he could be caught for. That's pretty much what drives the prince mad.

"Be realistic, Arthur. How are we going to get out of the window if it's shut?" he muses, waiting to gauge his reaction. Arthur stares on, unimpressed. Merlin's face doesn't reassure him one bit, so he stays right where he is.  
"We will… be back before we know it!" Merlin fumbles with his words in a futile attempt to convince him that this isn't one of his ridiculous magical ideas. Any idea involving magic is a bad idea, considering they are in Camelot, but Merlin's are especially bad and especially dangerous, so there's no way Arthur is saying yes to this. In the middle of all this, the sun seems to understand that it's morning, about time to show up, and appears from beneath the clouds to engulf Merlin, who is just standing there, in its stirring light.  Arthur is mesmerized, truly, and a bit blinded, and tries to fix this moment in his memory along with all the other ones, this... glowing Merlin. He's sort of a sap.

But on another note, he still isn't convinced that they'll be back in time for dinner. And how are they leaving through the window? Surely, Merlin isn't assuming they could fly somewhere on the back of a dra— _Oh_.

"Please tell me this hasn't got anything to do with your _friends_?"

Merlin fervently shakes his head. That generally means yes.

__________________________

"We're all settled!" Merlin shouts, as though everybody's deaf. Surely he's got the better hearing, what with the gigantic ears, but Arthur doesn't think he can bear the shouting. The day has barely even begun.

"You haven't told me where to go." Kilgharrah inquires, flapping his wings about because there's not much else to do. Merlin is glad he was able to somehow coax Arthur into coming along, but he hasn't thought of a place. So he looks to Arthur.

The dragon snorts. "Right, ask the Pendragon."  
Arthur doesn't like this dragon at all.  
"I don't know. I wasn't exactly expecting to, well…" and that's all he manages to say. There's a… brief awkward silence.

"Why don't _you_ pick someplace?" Merlin knows no boundaries, talking as though he'd directed a question to his younger sister and not to a huge, ancient, fire-spitting, riddle-loving magical creature. Kilgharrah stares at the two of them for a while, and it would be almost comical, if only the dragon were a little less intimidating, no flaring nostrils and massive body.

Kilgharrah emits a sound that resembles a sigh, and propels himself forward through the skies. "Young warlock, this is the last time I collaborate with your exaggerated eloping plans." Heat rises to Merlin's cheeks as he turns his head away from Arthur, who pretends to have heard nothing, wearing a practiced, entirely nonchalant expression. The wind is soothing, although a bit cold, and the way it slips through his clothes and curls around him could lull Arthur into sleep, if only he hadn't left his bed only a handful of hours before.  
And how can he fall asleep when he feels this way? There's a turmoil inside him, the quiet weather surrounding him is nothing compared to the things he feels. And he knows, like always, these things are Merlin's doing.

Arthur stares, absent-minded, for lack of anything better to do. Merlin is looking down, at the fields underneath them, and his mouth constantly twitches as though he's struggling with something. Arthur can't ever turn his head away once he's started looking at him. He's always tried to push _it_ to the back of his mind, but it comes back to him, and he can't bring himself to refuse it for a very long time.

Some time ago, Guinevere refused his advances. She'd shaken her head, like she were speaking to an uncomprehending child. He wonders if he isn't one.  
"You're in love with _Merlin_." she'd explained, matter of fact, and held his gaze, her mouth drawn in a thin line. That meant there was no arguing it. There was nothing Arthur could have said — wanted to say — to argue on that. He knew she'd have figured things out faster than anyone else. And maybe, he's simply been waiting for someone else to say the words, to stop him from denying it ever again. He wants it to be true, but he doesn't at the same time, and no one had warned him how confusing it could turn out to be. Nothing had felt that confusing before, but time has passed, and now Arthur is at peace with these things he feels, doesn't deny them. He keeps them within himself, peacefully keeps them hidden, and does nothing about them. Guinevere disapproves of this, surely, wants him to do something about them. He can picture her reaction almost perfectly, from the line of her mouth pressed shut to the shade of disappointment etched in her gaze. But he won't do anything. Gods, he can't.

 

 

 

"Arthur?"

The prince almost falls off. A weird noise escapes him, and Merlin lifts one eyebrow, unimpressed. He's starting to look more and more like his mentor.  
"I thought you might want to get off." Merlin helpfully provides, pointing to the ground right beneath the dragon's body. Uh.

Arthur's off in a second and Kilgharrah produces a hideous snort, like he has any right to go snorting straight into a prince's face. Merlin's walking away from them already, and the dragon takes that as the cue to give unwanted opinions. "You might take a look at your surroundings, now that he's gone. Although... they could hardly prove more interesting than the young warlock."

Arthur has no business listening with actual intent to any magical being that isn't his manservant. So he stalks off.

"Arthur!" he hears, and he's faintly aware his heart's swelling with the sight he's facing. He's turned around and Merlin's standing not that far off, neck craned to look at him and he thinks, that must be a bit uncomfortable. But then there are specks of blue enveloping the place, blossoming flowers filling the land with a clean scent. It reminds him of when Merlin enters his chambers with a basket of freshly washed tunics, and stuffs them all into the closet, huffing as though a couple pieces of clothing could weigh enough to tire him out.

Arthur walks through the meadow until he's at Merlin's side, and takes in the servant's mellow smile, compares the blue of his eyes to that of the petals and— and he's a warrior. He doesn't need these sentimental things, does he?

But there's a field of blue flowers, and Merlin's standing among them, savoring the peace with his shoulders sagging. It settles into him, too, and he's suddenly more relaxed than he's been in days. Merlin reads the lines of his face the way he would an open book, and though it's unfair, Arthur's grateful he doesn't have to convey the state he's in with _words_. Too bad the sole thing Merlin's oblivious to is the prince's glaringly obvious "crush". Arthur does not appreciate that term.

"It's… beautiful." Merlin marvels once they've selected a spot to sit down. Arthur hums in response. Merlin sure isn't being very creative or enlightening with his choice of words, but it's still better than being able to say nothing at all. Arthur curses himself silently, because it's sort of awkward and he doesn't want to be the one making things so. Sometimes he fails to understand Merlin, sometimes he considers the possibility that he doesn't keep such a good company. Talking comes hard to him; giving orders, much less.

When he comes back from his thoughts, Merlin's already fallen asleep beside him, laying on his side, facing him. Arthur hears chirping, short whistles from the wind, rustling in the grass, mixed with his manservant's placid breathing pattern. It's almost as though everything's loosening, and he exhales slowly.

A butterfly settles on Merlin's cheek.  
Arthur lets out small, breathless laughter, and the butterfly startles, moving away. So he curses himself some more and goes to sleep, too, because there isn't much else to do.  
  
  


 

 

 

 

"Rise and shine, _dollophead_." Merlin emphasizes, giddily slapping his warm palm across the prince's cheek. Arthur rises a second later, groaning aloud, and he believes this is the punishment he gets for being thoroughly soppy and going to sleep in the midst of a flower meadow. "How long have we been—?"

"Not too long. Seems it's still morning." They're both thankful for that. "It's gobsmacking. Today there doesn't seem to be even _one_ evil sorcerer around, intent on taking your life!"  
They're thankful for that, too.

"Will you stop saying that? You're calling it upon yourself." Arthur comments, though he knows there's nothing to be concerned about.

"Why would that matter? It's not me they're going to turn into a tree!"

" _Merlin_ …" He warns, and the dirty sorcerer's on his feet in an instant, scrambling to get away. Arthur tries to follow, but he feels a twinge of pain as he attempts to get up. He grunts.

Merlin turns around immediately, wide-eyed. "Arthur?"

"I just turned my neck at a weird angle. Don't go being a worrywart all the time." Arthur explains, catching up with him, and Merlin's raised his eyebrows, again. "Me? Why would I worry about you?" he points out, with a hint of something Arthur still can't place his finger on.

"Indeed."  
And then he tickles Merlin to the ground, because it's completely his fault that he's almost snapped his neck.

__________________________

Merlin lowers himself from the dragon's body and in less than a moment he's running off in what may or may not be a random direction. Arthur doesn't know, but he knows that he doesn't want to lose track of his manservant in a foreign land he's totally unfamiliar with, so he hurries after him.

Merlin stops, briefly, because he's found the sea and whips his head around to figure out whether Arthur's followed. He should know better. Arthur is just as miserable without Merlin, as Merlin is without him. They're somehow tied together, Arthur's thinking, and before he can form another coherent thought Merlin's stripping off right in front of him. Arthur has never seen him fully unclothed, though he's seen him shirtless a couple of times, touched his chest to dress his wounds once. For the sake of his remaining dignity, he hopes it's not _now_ that Merlin decides to strip down to nothing. Too much bare skin he's not ready to see.

Thankfully, apart from the tunic and that tatty thing on his neck, Merlin takes off nothing else. "Arthur? Are you still asleep?" He taunts once he's done, and Arthur heaves a heavy, heavy sigh. He's dealt with worse than a half-naked manservant in the water, he's not a lad anymore, getting excited about the tiniest things. So he takes a very determined step forward, but Merlin's already in front of him, getting rid of his tunic and babbling on — about how he's almost ready to rule a kingdom and still not ready to take his own clothes off himself. _Bollocks_.

They're trudging through the water and Arthur's shivering, because he's never been in colder waters than those. Where are they? That dragon's disappeared again, and it's not that Arthur wants him around, but he wants to ask where he's been flying off in the meanwhile. He'll ask, later.

"I thought it would be warmer..." Merlin laments. He spreads his hands underwater, evidently trying to do something, and Arthur doesn't pay him any mind. At least until the water's temperature shifts from mildly cold to downright boiling. "Merlin! What the hell!"

"Oh. I overdid it."

" _Oh_?"Arthur mimicks, exasperated. "You were about to set fire to my arse, Merlin!"

"That would be unfortunate." Merlin, that incompetent sorcerer, has the nerve to keep cackling, sounding more brain-addled than he is. And he's got to get his revenge, pushing Merlin underwater before he can realize how big the mistake he's making is. After he's had his fill of vengeful satisfaction, Merlin does in fact resurface, spluttering. With his damp hair sticking up in every direction, and beads of water sliding across his chest, catching the sunlight as they leave a glistening trail. Arthur feels something in his breeches increase in his size, and it's so _embarrassing_ he should be ducking underwater and never resurfacing. But he does none of that, because the water provides a good enough cover. Also, he's appreciating Merlin's infuriatingly good-looking face as he glares through the water dropping on his eyelashes.

They play around for a while. Oh, if his father knew what's he up to, disobeying his orders. _Consorting with a sorcerer_. He laughs at that. Merlin's powers may be outstanding, but he's such a simple and straightforward person, that Arthur can't bring himself to believe one word of what his father says about sorcery anymore. Once, he would have believed. Not anymore.

Merlin's euphoric just because of a water fight. Big bad wizard indeed. Well, he's enjoying it too.  
  
  
  


 

 

 

 

The warmest hours are over, and they're drying themselves off. Merlin stretches his arms. "Should we be back soon?"

"No" Arthur explains, "It's still early in the afternoon. And I told my father I wouldn't dine with him." Merlin nods, and unpacks the few things they've brought, quietly humming a tune while he brings food over. Arthur chews on some cheese hungrily, observing Merlin. He's rarely seen Merlin this happy, almost happier than he was when they'd resolved the whole magic situation. He wants to say something about it, but he has a vague feeling that it wouldn't have the desired effect. Merlin's happy, then they've achieved something — it doesn't matter what that something is.

__________________________

When he tries to pry an answer from Kilgharrah regarding what he's been up to, the thing mistically confuses him with a meaningless enigmatic response. "I must also enjoy myself like all living things do. Those who don't all meet their end slowly."

Isn't it a little taxing to speak in riddles all the time? Can't he give Arthur a break? And no, he isn't the type of person who gives up easily, but he'd rather shut his mouth now than get more cryptic answers. And he also feels bad for the dragon, because Merlin's back to ordering him around like he's some sort of winged carriage and not a majestic ancient creature of magic.

They reach a cave. "Are you sure this place's—"

"Go ahead." Kilgharrah says, proudly sitting down outside the entrance to the cave, and Merlin takes a moment to thank him.

Each breath he takes echoes, and there's nothing but darkness until he hears Merlin's hushed words and a bright orb begins following them around. Making associations between magic and safety would have been surprising for Arthur... a long time ago.

Merlin's looking around, stepping forward into what appears to be a wider area, the walls lined with crystals of varying color. Arthur's eyes wander, watching the crystals cast vivid light on the ground. Merlin grazes  one of them with the tips of his fingers and it lights up, blinding, splashing the cave in an intense blue hue.

Arthur tests another, larger crystal, spreading his palm over it. Needless to say, nothing really happens. He pouts.  
All of a sudden, Merlin's hand is spread over his, a source of comforting warmth, and he's forced to shield his eyes from the released red light. "Do you want to _blind_ me?" He complains, but truthfully, he doesn't want Merlin to move his hand away. Unfortunately it has to happen.

"Don't you want one?" Merlin exclaims, magically removing one of the smaller crystals from where it's stuck. Arthur shakes his head fondly.

"Such a girl. What do you want to make with that? Earrings?" This time, it's Merlin who pouts.

"I did want to make you something. I guess I've changed my mind now." He says, and Arthur's convinced he's joking.  
  
  
  
  


 

 

 

They're aware it must be around dinnertime when they stop in a small village. They introduce theirselves under the pretense that they've been travelling all day, and are unfortunately out of food supplies. Except that it isn't much of a pretense: they scarfed down the last of the meat a while ago and have no more water with them. Merlin had refused to kill and cook some of the game they'd seen in the forests around the village.

Almost as soon they arrive, Arthur loses sight of Merlin. A woman informs him soon enough that "he's using magic to help with the crops, in exchange for dinner" and that "his friend's such a kind lad". She practically drags him to her home and makes him sit down.

"Forgive me." she says then, "Your friend told me you're quite prone to getting into trouble."

Arthur tries not to laugh. He coughs. "Thank you for… Understanding his concerns."  
The woman nods and offers a cordial smile. It makes him think of Merlin's mother, of the gentle, motherly hugs she has given him. Hunith is dear to him, as is her son.

Said son walks in some time later, minuscule smudges of dirt on his face. Arthur greets him with a smile, attempting to convey that he's thankful — he was starting to feel a little uneasy, with the woman pacing around cooking. He had no way of making himself useful, as the woman had kindly refused his help and told him to wait for his friend. But he wasn't that patient.

Merlin thanks the woman profusely, and then dinner's ready. The table may be small, and there's quite a lot of noise coming from outside, the villagers probably up to something. But it's not at all bad. It's different from having dinner in his chambers, alone with Merlin, and Arthur's tasted better things for dinner, although he doesn't dare say a word about it. But, well… Merlin's lively, chatting with the woman about one thing or another, and Arthur doesn't mind listening to his voice go on and on. It's not like his father's, when he's going off on a rant about the threat magic poses to the kingdom. Merlin's voice is something else. And Arthur welcomes it.

"Why are you so quiet?" Merlin addresses him when they're standing in a clearing, waiting for Kilgharrah to hurry back to where they are.

Arthur can't exactly say he was busy comparing Merlin to a character from a fairytale book he used to own. He struggles to come up with something, and Merlin's expectant staring ceases at some point. Arthur shrugs. He's getting tongue-tied an awful lot, as of lately.

"I've done something wrong, haven't I?" Merlin doesn't drop the subject, and soon enough he's moving into his personal space, seeking all of the blame and a honest answer. If there's one thing Arthur can't stand about Merlin, it's the way he's constantly trying to blame himself for a series of things.

"No, Merlin. It's not about you."

"Then what is it?" Merlin pries, and why does he have to be this stubborn? Yes, Arthur talks to him about everything, but he can't talk about this, and specifically not to him.

"I was thinking about my father." He declares, a blatant lie. Arthur condemns his own incoherency, he'd accused Merlin of lying with such ease, months before — when he'd found out about his magic, about the lies. And he's so quick to do the same thing himself, now.

He wants this conversation to end. He tries to convey that. Instead, though he's picked up the intended message of Arthur's signature _Don't Want To Talk_ frown, Merlin is possibly insisting on the issue more than he was before. "It has to be important, Arthur. You haven't spoken a word in _hours_! Tell me what it is!"

Arthur turns away, squashing down the whole "feeling bad about his own actions" sensation and leaving the sorcerer to stare at his back. Behind him, Merlin huffs, indignant, but wisely chooses to stop talking. And Kilgharrah, being the helpful big lizard that he is, finally shows up, making his way to them with a few superfluous twirls and elaborate wing flappings. _What a show-off_.

Kilgharrah settles down and watches the two young men. Arthur doesn't move an inch, Merlin doesn't move an inch, and they're facing away from each other, arms crossed. No friendly banter. Seeing as it doesn't have any piece of useful destiny related information to share, Kilgharrah begins to recite: "A half cannot truly hate that which ma—"

Merlin, who has the gall to interrupt a dragon, gets tired of it fast. "We already know that!"

"Then make haste."

Arthur and Merlin hop onto the dragon's back, if with a bit of difficulty, and keep up their pretense of wanting to slap each other senseless. They don't talk for a while, but again, Arthur's not that patient. "Look, I—"

Merlin cuts him off. Cutting people off is one of his many talents and Arthur is only too elated to discover it. "We'll talk about this when we get home, you prat."

When we get home. _When we get home_.  
Arthur wants to raise his hand to his chest like he's clutching his heart, but he's quick to realize he's not that melodramatic. Leave the theatrical gestures to Merlin.

Merlin doesn't wait for an answer, just lays his head on Arthur's shoulder and sleeps. This proves Arthur's point that his manservant's overdoing it with the magic. First it's the chores he assigns him, then it's calling for a dragon, drying up clothes, hiding their presence from bandits, implementing some village's crops, and a whole lot of other magic-consuming activities. He's so going to scold him about this, when they get home.

In the meantime, he slowly maneuvers Merlin into his lap, managing not to rouse him. He's _not_ discomposed nor red-faced and he does not do this for any particular reason other than the fact that Merlin is clearly too cold, with these worn clothes' scarce protection.

The dragon snickers as though it knows everything and that's utterly unsettling to him. Arthur decides to ignore it.

He carefully settles the cloak around both of them — it's too large anyway. Arthur's well aware they could simply warm theirselves up with a flick of the sorcerer's finger. He hopes Merlin won't wake up and say it's unnecessary, because it's taken all of his willpower to do this and not think of the consequences.

Arthur wants to breathe out his relief when Merlin doesn't remove himself, instead choosing to nestle his head into the prince's chest. Arthur shifts to accommodate him. Like he's always done, really, if only on a metaphorical level. And Arthur can't help himself, as much as he doesn't want Merlin to witness the frantic pace his heart's set up, he draws his manservant closer to him, an arm around his shoulders. Merlin's head rests right where his heart is.

Arthur recalls his dreams. The first time it happened, he thought himself pathethic for it. For dreaming of Merlin, falling asleep in his arms' embrace. But it happens to him frequently, and there's no way to stop it, so he's learned to let some things go.  
Merlin, the idiot, must be at least partially awake, because he mutters something that suspiciously sounds like "Arthur".

 _Gods_. Arthur has immense self-control. But it is getting considerably harder to keep it, and maybe he shouldn't have hoisted Merlin up in his lap, maybe it was too much to bear.

"Mmrph... I live." he hears.

"What?" Arthur replies, though he's not certain Merlin's going to say anything in response. He had no idea Merlin talks in his sleep, but it doesn't surprise him much. It sounds like a very… Merlin-like thing to do. Merlin's quieted down, and Arthur's ready to leave it. The next words, he almost misses them.

"I lave— love. I love you." Merlin says, but it's barely comprehensible, muffled because his mouth's pressed against Arthur's tunic. But Arthur heard it, didn't he? He takes a deep breath.

"What?" He repeats, dumbfounded, voice a tad louder this time, and Merlin lifts his head with a weird sound, waking up. "What?" he whispers back.

Arthur tries to explain himself. "You just said—" And then he clamps his mouth shut, unable to continue. Merlin doesn't seem to understand what he's saying, until he does, eyes wide. "Oh." he utters. Something in his face says he wants to take it all back, but Arthur can't have that, can't and won't have any of that.

"Care to explain yourself?" Arthur breathes out weakly, and he's painfully aware his voice's about to break in the middle of the sentence. He has no idea what kind of explanation he's going to get, but he has to get one.

Merlin, the idiot, isn't saying anything and it doesn't look like he's going to speak anytime soon, anytime at all. Arthur's disappointment settles heavy on his own shoulders. He wants Merlin to say something, do something, it doesn't matter _what_!

Something unrecognizable crosses Merlin's features and, "No." he articulates. Arthur's face falls. No?

"I don't understand."

Merlin shakes his head, punctuates each of his words, his tone making it sound like he's trying to make a point to a stupid child, _again_. And Arthur's had enough of this kind of treatment. "You're a prince. You can't do this."

That's it? That's Merlin's so called explanation?

"You can't tell me what to do, Merlin!" Arthur grounds out, and he's one step away from grabbing his manservant's shoulders and screaming his feelings right into his face. Maybe that's not the best course of action, but it would make him feel better. All he wants is for Merlin to see things the way he sees them.

"That's not it!" Merlin continues, flailing his hands about excessively. He should know better than to get on Arthur's nerves.

Arthur impulsively grabs his shoulder, and he's eternally grateful they're several feet up into the sky, because no other place would be fitting for the prince to shout at the top of his lungs about such _personal matters_.

"Nobody gets to question who I'm in love with! And definitely not you!"

Merlin blinks. "You're in love with me?"

For the love of— "Isn't that the reason we're having this conversation in the first place?!"

"...Right." Merlin agrees, and a few beats of silence follow. He opens his mouth to speak up once more. Arthur's got to stop him before he does because he's…  
Ready to implode.

"Don't you dare say anything else."

Merlin nods, and Arthur puts his arms around Merlin's waist, their mouths inches apart. All the talk and bickering about him being a prince seems all the more needless, since his manservant's hardly backing away.  
Merlin smashes his lips onto Arthur's without premise, and Arthur moves with him, tilting his head to deepen the kiss. Now that his evident partiality to Merlin is out in the open, he has no reasons to stop himself. Well, as soon Merlin pushes his tongue in Arthur's mouth, the prince meets the action with a soft moan, a dead giveaway of his excitement, and maybe that's a tad mortifying. Merlin doesn't seem to mind, holding onto Arthur's arms and enjoying himself, and Arthur should be doing that, too, instead of worrying about the embarrassing noises he's making. He licks into Merlin's mouth and runs one of his hands across Merlin's back, finding warmth wherever he touches. Yet when he tries to push Merlin down—

"Be careful not to fall off my back. I will not be flying back down to get you." Kilgharrah ruins the thrilling moment. Potentially doing so on purpose, the impudent thing. Arthur, once more, acts as though he's heard nothing, but when he's about to resume the enticing kissing ordeal it's _Merlin_ who stops him.

"Kilgharrah's right. Also, I was sleeping before you started this mess." Arthur, first of all, wants to deny that the dragon's by any means right about this, but getting flung off the creature's back would be a questionable solution to his own problems. So he settles for "Must I remind you it was _you_ who started this!"

Merlin scoffs, and then he takes something out of nowhere, a thin string with a petite crystal attached to it. He wordlessly ties it slack around Arthur's neck, smirking at him. Arthur speechlessly wraps his hand around the pendant. "It still doesn't brighten up when I touch it."

"How was I supposed to make that happen?" Merlin mumbles, curling into Arthur's embrace and managing to deftly knock his elbow into Arthur's stomach, to the prince's grimace.

"You can order dragons around but you can't make this pebble shine?"

Arthur's words fall on deaf ears.

 **_____** **_____** **_____** **_____** **_____** _

"Arthur!" Merlin calls from the antechamber, emerging not a second later. "Look what I found!" He's holding up a dust-covered book, and while Arthur isn't able to recognize it from the distance, it's somehow familiar. He approaches curiously.

"A nice fairytale book. This can't have belonged to you…" Merlin jokes, flipping it to read the title aloud. "… _The Man Who Ruled The Sky_."

Obviously, Merlin's the one who's managed to find it. Obviously. Arthur steals it from his manservant's hands, feeling moderately emotional as he runs his fingers over the book's dirty cover.

Merlin stands there. "What?"

Arthur watches him grow more puzzled by his behaviour as time passes. His face's priceless. "Nothing. It belonged to me, by the way."

**Author's Note:**

> thank you for reading!!! i do plan to write more (since i have prompts ready) so if you think i should post more, let me know! also happy new year (〃°ω°〃)♡


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